


That Old Time Religion

by Sir_Thopas



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Journey into Mystery, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Appalachia, F/M, Folklore, Ghosts, Magic, Metafiction, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25214902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Thopas/pseuds/Sir_Thopas
Summary: In Panem, there were no gods, no heroes, no magic. When the people gathered around their hearths, they spoke not of stories, but of gossip and the news and how much the price of bread had risen. In Panem, there were no stories, except one: the Hunger Games.Loki is a God of Mischief and Witches and Magic. He is a God of Stories. But he cannot feed off of one story alone. He needed more. He was going to dust off Panem's collective imagination and breathe a little life into it. Bring back the magic and the monsters and even the gods themselves.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had asked this question before on Reddit and Tumblr: does fiction exist in Panem?
> 
> I asked this because it had occurred to me one day that Katniss has no idea what a ghost is. She never once uses the term when discussing The Hanging Tree; in fact, she finds it weird and confusing that a dead man could talk in the song. Folk songs are full of the supernatural, not to mention all of the books and movies and TV shows that use ghosts as a literary device.
> 
> But then I realized that The Hunger Games makes no mention of movies or fiction or really any media except for The Hunger Games and state-sponsored news and propaganda. There is not even the slightest mention of religion or the supernatural. The Hanging Tree appears to be an ancient relic that has somehow survived the hundreds of years between our time and The Hunger Games, it's so remote that Katniss has difficulty understanding it. So, I decided to play around with the idea and came up with this.
> 
> Also bonus points to anyone who knows where Katniss is at the beginning of this chapter!

Katniss swore under her breath as the rain pelted down from the sky above. After two days of walking, she was thoroughly lost. She had been tracking a wounded deer and had gotten turned around. Normally, she would have used the sun to figure out her position, but the dark clouds had covered every inch of the sky. She should not have gone hunting on such a cloudy day. She should have waited until Gale came to find her. She shouldn’t have panicked. Should've, shouldn't, should’ve. 

She was far too deep into the wilds to do anything but press on. Her bow was kept notched as she constantly scanned the hills for any war mutts. She followed along a natural path that cut through the forest; maybe it used to be a road a long time ago. 

Katniss stopped, her foot frozen mid-step, and drew her bow quietly. There, in the distance, a black shape was moving. Four legs, with the looping gate of a dog, but too large. Far too large. Katniss wanted to shake her head and clear her eyes of the rain to get a better look, but she didn’t dare move. The dog-thing trotted along, sniffing at the mud, before pausing to lift its head. She could see the glint of its eyes as it stared at her. For one long, painful second the two of them were locked in a silent, motionless battle. Then the dog-thing continued its walk before disappearing between the thick trees. 

Katniss let out the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. She needed to find shelter and fast. It took another twenty minutes before she came upon a clearing. The tall grasses reached nearly waist-high. The only thing taller was the stack of stones that stood lonely in the center of the field. Katniss had come upon such things before once or twice in the woods. At first, she hadn’t a clue as to what they were until her father had explained. They were chimneys, the only reminder left that a house once stood there. 

Katniss trudged through the field toward it. Where there was one ruin, there were usually others. Maybe she could find shelter. As she came closer, however, she realized the thing wasn’t a chimney at all. It was made from one solid piece of stone. Granite, perhaps? There was no hint of where the fireplace had once been, no opening for the smoke to go through. It was taller than Katniss and the top came to a point. Katniss brushed her wet hair from her face and traced her fingers along the grooves that someone had carved into its surface. They were worn, almost unreadable, but she could make out a few words here and there: betsy, witch, spirit, bell. “Bell” was the only word she knew. The others were gibberish. Maybe it was a different language? She had learned in school that there used to be hundreds of different languages. 

Katniss looked around and finally spotted a cave nearby. She ran towards it, peeking inside. It was pitch black and she could hear nothing coming from inside; still, it looked deep. Who knew what was lurking inside of it. Katniss settled near the entrance, ready to flee at the first sign of beast or mutt. She looked out toward the field, watching the rain come down in sheets, and knew that somewhere beyond the clouds the sun was setting. She rubbed her hands together, yearning for a fire, as she turned the strange, foreign words over and over in her head. 

Bet-sigh. Or was it bet-see? Witch. Like itch, but with a W? Or was it just an old way of spell “which”? Katniss was struck by how little she knew of the Old World. She was a decent student. She knew that this land had been called “America” before the war and floods and fire, that Panem rose from its ashes. Then there was the rebellion and the Hunger Games, of course, who could forget that? Katniss snorted. Still, one would think more would have survived. This ruin was only a two day walk from District 12. Who knows what else was out there? 

Katniss placed her hand on her chin, her muscles relaxing as the evening crawled into night, everything quiet and still except for the occasional sound of thunder in the distance. “Betsy. Witch. Spirit. Bell.” Katniss slowly sounded out the words. It occurred to her that she was probably the first person in centuries to say those words. It made her feel almost giddy with some unexplained power. “Betsy. Witch. Spirit. Bell.” She said them louder, more confidently. She didn’t know what they meant, but they were _hers_. Saying them gave her a sense of... of... she didn’t know. Protected, invincible, powerful, euphoric... All of it at once. She didn’t know what the feeling was inside of her, but it was building. “Betsy! Witch! Spirit! Bell!” 

Lightning erupted across the sky and for a few brief seconds the entire meadow was illuminated. Katniss was on her feet, her bow in hand, and edging her way out of the cave. She had seen a little girl in a green dress, hanging by her hands in one of the trees. 

_No stranger would it be... if we met at midnight... in the hanging tree..._

Katniss kept low to the ground, the rain and thunder covering any sounds she made. She inched her way towards the tree. The limbs creaked, but there was nothing in them. No footprints either. It was just a trick of the light. 

She let out a sigh and leaned against the trunk, listening to the wind howl. No. It wasn’t the wind. Her muscles tensed again as she noticed a small figure wandering around the base of the stone ruin. It was a boy, a very dirty and ragged-looking boy, crying in the middle of the field. How did he get there? Where did he come from? Why hadn’t she noticed him before? Katniss’s first thought was _mutt_. She had heard of some old war-mutts that looked human enough to trick the enemy. Every instinct was telling her to run, but... he looked to be the same age as Prim. 

Katniss stayed where she was, watching. The boy was terribly thin with tangled black hair and clothed in torn, muddy rags. Although District 8 manufactured most of the clothing used in the Capitol, the other districts received bolts of whole cloth to be cut and sewn by themselves. It gave each district their own look. The boy’s clothes were too degraded for her to try and match them with anything she had seen on the Hunger Games. Unless he _was_ a mutt and the clothing were only some scraps it had found while rummaging around ruins. The boy finally turned his head and Katniss caught a glimpse of his pale, sunken face. It was a boy, a real boy, not a mutt. Katniss ran towards him, calling out, “Hey! Hey! Are you alright?” 

The boy cowered, ducking behind the stone to shield himself from her. Katniss held up her hands, her bow still gripped in one of them, and said, “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

A pair of green eyes peeked out at her, followed by string of strange words that poured out of his mouth. Katniss stared in amazement. He didn’t speak English. Everyone in Panem spoke English. Did he truly live out here in the wilds with the war-mutts and the ruins? If he was here, speaking a foreign language, then there had to be others. Someone had to teach him talk. 

Katniss reached into her bag and pulled out some blueberries. She held them out to him and the boy, after thinking about it for a moment, quickly snatched them up and stuffed them into his mouth. Another loud crack of lightning snaked it’s away across the sky. The boy looked up at the fiery bolt with wonder, but Katniss took him by the hand and gave him a little shake. “We need shelter.” She pointed to the cave. “Understand? Come on!” 

The boy let himself be led by her and they settled down just inside the cave. The boy huddled against her, wet and shaking, his eyes darting from her to the field to the darkness that loomed behind them. “My name is Katniss,” she said. She pointed to herself. “Katniss.” 

“Katniss.” 

Katniss nodded her head and smiled, liking the way her name sounded in his funny accent. She pointed to herself again. “Katniss.” She then pointed at him and waited. The boy twisted his mouth and looked down at the ground, saying nothing. She tried again. “Katniss.” She pointed to herself and then at him. The boy looked away. Katniss sighed. Maybe he didn’t understand. Maybe he didn’t trust her with his name. She heard the boy shuffle a little closer and then, a few minutes later, crept even closer. He was soaked to the bone and shaking. Katniss lifted up her arm and said, “Come on then, little duck.” He immediately tucked himself against her and closed his eyes. 

Nobody much cared when Katniss hauled in squirrels or turkeys from the forest. But a whole child? She could only imagine what the Peacekeepers would do. Katniss doubted the Capitol would want word to spread about the existence of the boy; it meant there were people living outside of the Capitol’s control. It would be easier if Katniss just abandoned him, but... he stirred up hope within her. Suddenly Gale’s wild dreams of going off to live in the forest didn‘t seem so crazy anymore. Katniss made up her mind. She was going to keep him. She just had to come up with a plan. 

* * *

When morning broke, the clouds had finally moved on. Katniss stretched, delighting in the warmth of the sun. She stretched her arms toward the sky, singing softly as she worked the kinks out of her back. The boy stirred and, after watching her for a few seconds, stood next to her and copied her movements. No, not quite. The boy lifted his arms and sang his strange words, but he wasn’t stretching. He raised them up and then made a showy bow, like something a Capitol would do. The movements he made were... traditional? No, that wasn’t quite the word. Whatever it was, he made them toward the sun, as if it could see him. 

Amused by his game, Katniss copied his actions, which delighted the boy. He looked a little healthier than he had last night. He probably only looked so wretched because of the rain. Katniss gathered up her belongings and split what was left of the blueberries between them before leading him out of the clearing. Katniss let her hand brush against the stone ruin as she left for... well, she didn’t know what for, but as her fingertips touched to cool, wet granite, she felt a tingle run up her spine and a hint of that strange feeling she had before. 

The woods were to the west of District 12. Now that the clouds were gone, all she had to do was follow the rising sun and she’d hit the fence eventually.

It took three days to reach 12, slower now with the boy. When they reached the fence it was dusk and she kept the boy hidden behind the tree line. The boy opened his mouth to speak and Katniss quickly covered it, holding a finger to her lips and shushing him. She pointed to a passing Peacekeeper and made enough violent hand motions that the boy looked suitably horrified. Hopefully that would keep him from speaking his language when near them. 

As soon as night had fallen, Katniss grabbed his hand and raced across the meadow. The fence was silent, most of the houses were dark. The electricity was out again. She gestured for the boy to crawl under the fence before following after him. They stuck to the shadows, keeping out of sight of any passerby. Katniss grinned when she saw her house. A black ribbon had been tacked to the door. It was a sign the District used whenever someone fell ill with something dangerous and contagious. Keep away, the ribbon said. Katniss had discussed this with her mother, in case she didn’t come back from the forest one day. Pretend that Katniss had contracted typhoid; no one would dare look in on them for fear of catching it themselves. If she hadn’t returned in a week, then she probably wasn’t coming back, and her family could “cremate” her. The Peacekeepers wouldn’t bother to check the body, or even if there _was_ a body, not with the threat of typhoid. 

Katniss quietly entered the house. Her mother and sister were seated at the table and the moment her head poked through two chairs crashed to the floor as they leapt to their feet. There was a pair of arms around her neck and Katniss leaned forward to bury her face in her sister’s blonde hair as Primrose blubbered how worried she was and how much she had missed her through the snot and tears. Her mother stood back. Katniss didn’t think any of it, except that she was glad not to have to endure her mother’s demonstrations. She still hadn’t forgiven her over how she had abandoned her children after their father’s death. She doubted she ever would. But then she realized that her mother wasn’t even looking at her; she was looking at the boy. Katniss quickly disentangled herself from Prim, yanked the boy inside, and closed the door. "This is Sylvan Cutter.” 

Mrs. Everdeen stared at the two of them in confusion. 

Katniss remembered the Cutters. She had been eight years old, and Sylvan four – a year old than Prim – when Sylvan’s father, in a fit of madness, took a pickaxe to his wife’s head and then slit his wrists with a kitchen knife. The little boy, however, had disappeared. It was the only time Katniss could remember when the Peacekeepers and the miners had actively worked together in search of him. Eventually, the Peacekeepers determined that Mr. Cutter must have murdered Sylvan and buried him earlier that day, before waiting at home for his wife to arrive to finish off the rest of his family. His wife being out to keep company with the Head Peacekeeper, of course. The search ended and Katniss was strongly discouraged of ever speaking about it again. 

“He must have crawled through a gap in the fence; he would have been small enough,” Katniss continued. “I don’t know how he managed to survive out in the woods. Don’t you recognize him?” No one would have recognized him. The only thing the two boys had in common was their black hair. Sylvan had been dark-skinned, like Katniss and most of the others in the Seam, with grey eyes and a decided curl to his hair. This boy was as pale as a corpse, his hair straight – if tangled – and with large, green eyes. But no photographs existed of the Cutters, so who could prove he wasn’t Sylvan? 

Mrs. Everdeen nodded as understanding lit up her eyes. “Of course,” she murmured. “I see it now. Little Sylvan has come home.”


	2. Chapter 2

Loki fell to his knees, collapsing into the mud as rain pelted his face and back. Something was wrong. He felt sick, like the world was turning without him. Left behind. A crack of thunder erupted above him and he thought, ' _Thor_.' But Thor didn't come. There was no hint of magic in the air, just the sterile stench of scorched ozone. Scientific and mundane.

Loki jerked himself to his feet, suddenly realizing why he was feeling so sick. There was no magic. No matter the world, the dimension, he travelled to there was always the thread of magic interwoven with the universe. Even if his newly reborn body couldn't access it yet, he could _feel_ it. Magic was a part of him, a part of every story.

"Hey! Hey! Are you alright?"

Loki ducked back without thinking. He had well learned his lessons on Asgardia: best to make yourself scarce when someone larger than you starts yelling in your direction. He peeked around the pillar he had thrown himself behind. A human girl was running toward him. She was quite small, not very much taller than Loki himself, but much older. Well, relatively speaking. Appearances aside, she was dangerous and not just because of the bow in her hand. She moved like a hunter. And yet...

As she drew closer, Loki felt his skin tingle, yearning to get closer to that source of magic. There was magic on her. Faint, a bare dusting on her skin, but to be suddenly ripped away from it, that little bit was like water to a dying man.

The girl held out her hand. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Did you summon me here?" He asked, cautiously stepping out from behind the pillar.

The girl frowned, squinting at him as if he'd just spoken gibberish to her. It's not such a ridiculous question, is it? As far as he can tell the only thing this world has to magic is her.

Her eyes widen then, a flash of excitement, and Loki isn't sure what to think of _that_. She leaned forward and slowly reached into her bag to pull out some blueberries, holding them out like he was a wild cat she wanted to tame. Loki was insulted, but also very hungry and after a moment's deliberation his stomach proved victorious against his pride and he snatched up the blueberries, popping them into his mouth with relish. "We need shelter." The girl spoke, sounding out each word loud and slow, like he was deaf or... _Oh no_. "Understand?"

The Allspeak wasn't working. Of course it wasn't working. _There was no magic here_. Except on her, and Loki found that _fascinating_. Not in a "poke you while you lay on a medical slab" kind of way, but more of a "let's be friends and do magic and maybe set something on fire if there's time" kind of way. He thought Leah would like her.

 _Leah_...

Loki shivered, suddenly aware that he was all alone. No Leah, and, perhaps more worryingly, no Ikol. Ikol was always with him, whether Loki wanted him or not. The cold rain stung his skin, and he shivered harder. He shouldn't even be able to feel the cold. He was a Frost Giant. Loki plucked at the mud-covered clothing he wore. The black silk was tattered, the hood torn away. Where was his crown?

The girl grabbed his arm and started to pull him along. He hurried to keep up with her, trying not to slip on the wet grass. She guided him inside a cave and gestured for him to sit down. Loki hesitated. It was a big cave and it seemed to go on and on. There could be bears, and Loki wasn't exactly the sorcerer he used to be. The girl still had her bow out though, the arrow notched loosely against the wire, ready to be aimed and loosed at a moment's notice. He settled next to her, still warily eyeing the darkness. "My name is Katniss," the girl said, pointing to herself. "Katniss."

It was obvious what she wanted him to do. Loki smiled a little to himself. He could play along. "Katniss."

She beamed at him. Katniss pointed to herself again and said "Katniss." Then she pointed to him and waited. Loki hesitated. His name was well-known throughout the universe as a harbinger of chaos and destruction, and while he wasn't sure if this world had ever heard of the God of Mischief it was better to be safe than sorry. Loki pursed his lips and played dumb. Katniss tried a few more times before giving up. She leaned against the wall, constantly watching for any sign of threat. Loki's shivers had turned into tremors. He knew what 'cold' was, of course, but it had never bothered him before. Now he was feeling it in a way mortals must. He didn't understand it. He was still a Frost Giant, even if he didn't have access to all the powers Old Loki once had. Not even shapeshifting, which he had been told had come as naturally to him as breathing. Loki tried to search for the skin hidden beneath the Aesir mask, but he couldn't feel it. Not that he was surprised. He hadn't been able to feel it since being reborn. It was being blocked, somehow. Ikol understood it better than he did, but then Ikol understood everything better than him. Loki leaned toward Katniss, seeking her warmth and that ever-so-faint hum of magic. She didn't say anything. He grew bolder and edged closer.

She suddenly pierced him with a look, something half-smiling and half-scowling. Loki froze.

Katniss lifted up her arm. "Come on then, little duck." Loki would have balked at the pet name, but he was cold and a little scared and lonely. He burrowed into her side, reveling in the way her arm came to wrap around his shoulders. He was glad that Ikol wasn't around for this, at least, otherwise he would have had to endure the bird's mocking. Loki? _Cuddling_?Childish, weak, mortifying, blah blah blah. Katniss couldn't hold him like Thor could, but Thor wasn't often in Asgardia and even when he was Loki couldn't always needle him in indulging him with a cuddle. Katniss did not seem so stingy with her cuddles. She held him for so long that he felt his eyes grow heavy and he slipped into sleep.

When Loki awoke, he found that morning had come. The storm had passed and the sun was bright, though the chill lingered in the air. Katniss stood outside of the cave, stretching her back, soaking in what little warmth the sun provided. An idea bloomed in Loki's head as he watched her work out the kinks in her muscles. He could not access his shapeshifting or sorcery, but _ritual_ magic was not cut off from him. Sorcery was magic fueled by a person's will. It was powerful, instantaneous, sometimes helped along with a little bit of ritual (a flick of the wand, a whispered incantation, just to provide it a little boost). Ritual magic required the slow building of power, layer by layer, like a building's foundation. Draw a pentagram, walk backwards three times, say the magic words and sacrifice a goat. The more rituals, the more power. The only requirement was _belief_.

Loki crawled out of the cave and stood beside Katniss. He bowed low before the sun, spreading out his fingers to imitate the rays, as he had seen pictures of ancient sun-worshippers do. He felt a crackle, the sharp sting of static electricity as little sprites of magic danced along his skin, warming him. Then, it started to _grow_.

Loki looked over at Katniss and saw her copying his movements. Did she think he was praying? Was she trying to be respectful? Whatever she thought, she was feeding into the ritual, boosting the magic. The spell blossomed, and the cold dissipated, enveloping Loki in a cloak of warmth. He grinned, pleased at their success and this small comfort he had gained.

"Come on," she jerked her head towards the woods. "We better get going."

Well, he certainly wasn't going to stay here in these woods by himself! He followed after her, passing by the pillar he had used as a shield last night. There were words etched into the granite and he paused. At first he had mistaken them for ancient carvings, but now he could see that it was written in plain English, though so worn from weather and age that it was hard to read it. He could just make out the words _The Bell Witch_ when Katniss called for him to hurry.

* * *

"He's Sylvan Cutter. I found him wandering beyond the fence while I was in the meadow, picking flowers. I lured him back into 12 with food."

Loki sighed. Katniss wasn't a very good liar. She said all of this with such an air of defiance, already defensive before the first accusation could be thrown. The tall, dark-haired boy standing next to her bed seemed to agree. "You're supposed to have been stuck in bed with typhoid for the past six days," he said, in a voice that said 'be reasonable,' which only sparked Katniss's ire. "Let me be the one to say I found him. You've got enough mouths to feed anyway."

"And you don't? Gale..." Her voice dropped down to a whisper. "Do you understand what this means? There's a whole community of people living out there, free of the Capitol."

Gale kept stealing glances at him. Loki fixed upon his face an expression that said, "I am but a simple-minded barbarian, uncouth and unlearned, I know not these words you are saying," and continued coloring next to Primrose.

"If the Capitol doesn't take him, I'll bring him back to you," Gale finally said. What kind of place had Loki found himself in?

"Gale..."

"There's nothing else we can do at this point."

"If he starts talking in a foreign language--"

"I'll keep him quiet."

Katniss fixed Gale with a leveled glare. "Don't hurt him." _Yes, do not hurt me!_ Loki thought as he drew pictures of trees.

Gale grinned. "You're sick, remember? Be sick."

Katniss fell back onto the bed, groaning. Gale laughed and walked over to where Loki was sitting. He ruffled his hair, then pointed at Loki before pointing at himself. "You. Come. With. Me." He said. He pointed at the window. "We leave at night." Then he put his finger to his lips. "Quiet. No talking."

Loki stared blandly back at him.

Gale sighed and put his hands on his hips. "This is going great..." he muttered.

Primrose giggled. She held up a picture she had drawn. It was a picture of the town Katniss had brought him to, 12 they called it (and what kind of name is that?). He thought it quite good, though Loki had not been able to see much of it before Katniss had sequestered him inside the little farmhouse she lived in. Primrose had also taken care to draw herself, Katniss, and their mother. She was not nearly so good at drawing people as houses and flowers. "This is home," she said, softly, pointing to the houses and the people. "Can you draw your home?"

For a moment, Loki considered whether or not it would be best to pretend he hadn't understood, before deciding to draw Asgardia anyway. He wanted them to know. He wanted to tell them about Thor and Leah, about his adventures. He drew Asgardia floating above Broxton, his brother flying through the sky, hammer in hand. Leah and Thori stood in a corner on the ground, and because she wasn't there to tell him off, Loki drew her with a big smile.

Primrose picked up the drawing, frowning in confusion. "Oh, that's... that's very good. Oh, hm." She turned the picture sideways, as if that would make sense.

Gale leaned over to look at it. "I wonder who the blacksmith is."

"You think that man is a blacksmith?" Primrose asked.

"He's got a smithing hammer, doesn't he?"

Loki felt his mouth drop open, before snapping it shut and fixing that dumb, blank stare on his face again. But... _Thor_ as a _blacksmith_? He was flying through the sky! With a cape! As difficult as it was for Loki to accept, it was possible they had never heard of the mighty Thor. But to mistake him for a blacksmith! Did they not have superheroes here?


End file.
